


The Wilting Rose

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Flo</p><p>One night, in the dappled moonlight, Seamus and Dean declare their love. Love, they find, is not easy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).

All was quiet in the boys' dormitory. The room slept, pitched in inky blackness apart from a ray of mottled moonlight which crept silently through the open window. Seamus Finnigan sat awake in this small hour, basking in the peaceful soft glow of the moon. He felt strangely blissful, yet could not sleep. Carefully, he crept across the room to the windowsill. The night outside was still and clear, the sky indigo and scattered with distant stars. He sighed gently, looking out into the night. When did he lose himself? His eyes moved around the room, falling upon the sleeping body of Dean Thomas. Suddenly he felt his eyes well up with tears. He had never felt such loneliness. Without thinking, he tiptoed up to Dean's bed.

Immediately, he was overcome by the beauty of Dean's sleeping persona. Dean slept on his side, his elegant hands folded upon the snow-white pillow. With chocolate brown eyes closed, his jet-black lashes brushed his smooth cheek upon which tendrils of soft hair fell. Seamus sighed again, watching Dean's lean, cat-like chest heave in his sleep. Upon his rosy lips played an arched smile, and he occasionally murmured- his slow, subconscious voice purring sexily. Becoming overwhelmed by Dean's grace and perfection, Seamus reached out his own hand and laid it on top of Dean's. He felt warm and tender- the moment was complete. Although he knew it was risky, Seamus wished to continue the moment, and so sat, adoring Dean for what felt like eternity.

Dean Thomas stirred from his sleep. He had dreamt of roses and new moons, dreams which had moved him and surprised him. His body felt warm and content, like he was being watched over, loved unconditionally. Was he being watched over? His hand felt heavy, like somebody was holding it. But who? More curious than alarmed, he lit his lamp and peered into the face of none other than Seamus Finnigan.

"Seamus?" Dean asked, confused but not upset that he was there.

"Oh, Dean..." Seamus muttered, staring at the floor. "I... I was just..."

"You were holding my hand."

Seamus felt sick with worry. How could he have been so stupid as to portray his feelings for Dean? How could he have let his passion and curiosity take over his common sense?

"I'm sorry, Dean... It... er, won't happen again. I was just tired and homesick- probably a bit drunk."

Now it was obvious to Dean. Seamus cared for him, he loved him! Dean felt his heart leap. He had worried about his distinct lust for Seamus for ages- terrified of unrequited love and rejection, as well as the fear of being different. But Seamus felt the same- he'd held his hand in the night and watched him sleeping!

"Seamus..." Dean began, staring into the two verdant orbs of Seamus' eyes, luminous in the dark.

"No, Dean, I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry... I shouldn't have... I'm stupid... sorry..." His eyes cast to the floor and his shoulders hunched over, Seamus began to sob. Full of concern, pity and now definite love, Dean reached out a hand. His fingers brushed a rough cheek, following flowing teardrops down to Seamus' hand, where he wrapped his fingers around those of his woeful friend. This gesture meant everything to both of them, and bringing their gazes to meet each other, they kissed for the first time.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's having second thoughts as the leaves fall, and it's more than Shay can take...

Now the autumn leaves were falling, and the ground was crisp with golden leaves. The lake had turned deep green; upon it's surface floated the fallen leaves like small, solitary boats. The days were peaceful and still, but the night sent a screeching, howling wind that tore away relentlessly until morning came.

In the breaking of a cold, bright dawn, Dean Thomas stood by the lake lost in thought. It had been a month since that night, that strange disturbing night. He took a twig in his hand thoughtfully. What had he felt then? Did he feel that way now? If he did... Would he allow himself to? The face of Seamus came into his mind. It was the same as it had always been.

"I'm hardly swooning with desire, am I?" Muttered Dean, without realising he had spoken aloud. He began to run his fingers up and down the smooth twig. There was something special about that night, doubtless. Though what it was, he couldn't tell, for the familiar crunch of footsteps through the leaves brought him back to reality. Dean turned, and noticed Seamus Finnigan walking up the path. Seamus caught his eye and smiled. Dean hoped that this smile would make everything all right, make him see that he loved him. But it didn't.

"You've been avoiding me," said Seamus playfully, though in his eyes Dean could see he was hurt.

"Don't be stupid," Dean grinned, trying to sound carefree.

"Let's go for a walk." Seamus clapped a hand on Dean's back, to move him. Dean could tell by the way Seamus let his hand linger that his feelings had not changed. They walked for a while in silence. Then suddenly, Seamus turned and stopped walking.

"We should talk about- about what happened."

Looking into those feline eys of Dean's, Seamus could tell there was regret in them. He watched Dean squirm uncomfortably under his fixed stare, and then turn his body away from him. Feeling a desperate surge in his heart Seamus grabbed Dean's arm and turned him around to face him again.

"Don't do this, please don't I know it's weird, but isn't it worth it? I love you, Dean." Seamus shook Dean's arm frantically. "I love you."

"I'm going to get some breakfast," muttered Dean, trying to shake off Seamus. He had been stupid that night and wasn't about to risk it again.

"No! That night," Seamus was breathing hard and he was trembling. "You said you- and we- didn't it- why did you-"

"It meant something then. But it doesn't any more. I'm sorry, Seamus. I'm not like you."

Seamus released his grip on Dean, stricken by the harshness of Dean's word. Dean had turned around, as if he couldn't bear to look at Seamus anymore. His breath was shallow and his body was tense, ready to move. Sinking to the floor, Seamus gazed after Dean's slowly retreating shape.

"It isn't fair!" Seamus shouted after him. "I thought you might actually have cared... I should've known you were lying!"

Then, he watched the mist swirl around Dean, and he was gone. Feeling a slow passion rise up in his veins, blood red and torrid he kicked a tree. Then, white passed in front of his eyes and the anger grew, rising with a loud, taunting music in his ears until everything turned black and silent.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seamus is lost, scared to wake up. Dean is suffering with guilt. Is their love really unrequited?

Seamus stretched his toes and felt a warm light on his face. Around his body were crisp linen sheets, and he could smell roses. He felt peaceful lying there, like every care he had ever had was washed away by a gentle hand. Lying back, he vowed never to open his eyes so that he could remain in this perfect world forever.

*

The bay window in the dormitory was open. Dean tilted his face to the wind, eyes shut tight. With white knuckles, his hands gripped the ledge. A cold breeze was forming beads of dew which stung his brow. He let his arms hang limply out of the window as his head drooped on to the windowsill. What had happened to Seamus? He had disappeared four days ago, that day when he had left Seamus on his knees, broken by unrequited love. Dean drew in a shuddering breath as shadowy doubts began to rise up in his mind.

*

They were white roses, Seamus liked to think. Pure white, with a thornless stem. Seamus inhaled their sweet fragrance and smiled to himself. The warm light on his face was flickering, like the tender flames of a fireside. He heard nothing, and yet a sweet song was in his mind. Seamus felt he was in an extended dream and to wake now would be painful. Sinking into a blissful sleep again, a face came into his mind yet whose face he could not remember.

*

Strange scenarios were playing themselves out in Dean's mind. He remembered walking down the path.

"I'm not like you," he had said to Seamus before he left. He had seen Seamus sink to the floor in grief and not felt any sympathy. As he turned and walked away, he saw Seamus shouting after him, rocking in desperation. Then Seamus stood and walked towards the lake. Within seconds, he was gone.

"Mate, what's wrong?" Feeling the weight of somebody else on the window sill, Dean looked up to see Ron, someone he had never come to know after seven years at Hogwarts.

Words failed him. He bit his lip and stared wide-eyed through the window and out to the frosty grounds.

"You're worried about Shay, right?" Dean nodded dumbly.

"Well, he's in good hands, isn't he? Very lucky too... Could've so easily drowned in there..."

Dean hugged his knees and shut his eyes again, muttering to himself. What had he done?

*

He was just coming out of his sleep. Seamus reminded himself not to open his eyes. He inhaled deeply, waiting for the perfume of the roses. It was not there. He searched for the feeling of that warm light. Nothing. There were no crisp linen sheets, no roses, no gentle hands to rock him to sleep. Tentatively, he opened one eye. The room was white, but not a pure white. A fluorescent light glared harshly at him. He was lying in a low metal bed with a table by the side. Suddenly he wanted to scream- he had come out of his dream and he remembered Dean, he remembered everything. He wanted to run but the bed restricted him. Dean' s words screamed at him as blaring colours danced in front of his eyes. A dark figure standing over him held up something sharp, shiny- and thrust it into Seamus' vein. And everything turned to blackness, and then nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes: A bit of a weird chapter, I think..


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Seamus meet again.. but things have changed for both of them.

Walking down a grey, untwisted path, Dean turned his eyes to the sky. It was blue, the kind of dazzling blue that hurt his eyes. Everything seemed to hurt him these days. The smell of roses made him sick, like a thousand thorns stuck in his mind. And why, he thought.. Why? He listened to his feet drag along the path, a hollow laugh rising up from him. He was such a misery. The park was full of misery: that dusty path; the trees bent with the grief of a hundred lonely years; the sad crying of the doves. Too weary to carry on, he let his legs collapse beneath him. He listened to his breath, it came scarcely, until he was hardly sure if he was breathing at all.

A drop of rain dropped slowly from the sky, landing like a watery ink blot on the milk white flower. Seamus clutched it in his hand, breathing hard. He was back, back at Hogwarts where he belonged. But the grounds seemed so strange and unfamiliar now. His feet thumped along the ground. They had become like brushes, painting thick black lines along that perfect ground. He had to run, couldn't stop running, running from that place. Screwing up his eyes he doubled his pace until he was no longer in charge of his body. Gliding along that path, nothing mattered. Lifting a foot, he made to leap, only he met the ground way before he had intended. Sprawled on his mutilated ground, he glared up at the dark shape in front of him.

"You....", he said, in a voice Dean could hardly recognise. It was slow and slurred, as if the words were drowning in a thick sea. Emotion almost failed the voice, its monotone exposing pain beyond expression.

"I'm not like you...", it stuttered, swaying slightly as it stood. What was left of the moon lit the face, its contours black with shadow. Dean recoiled. The hair was gone, replaced by a harsh stubble. The skin was pale and pasty, sweat grey with filth running down it. The green eyes had no glimmer left to them, and seemed to search for something in the distance.

"Where... have you... What did you... did you...?" Dean couldn't find the words.

"Been ill." Seamus was glad it was still in his veins. To see that face and hear that voice without it would have been dangerous.

Dean's scared eyes filled as he stared up at his friend.

"What have they done to you, Shay?" Dean stood, inspecting his friend closely.

"They gave me stuff... Stuff that made me forget where I was..." Seamus took a step towards Dean, still staggering; eyes madly unfocussed.

"Who I was..." He took another step, now nose to nose with Dean. Dean's skin crept as he felt Seamus breathe.

"And what I was." Now Dean backed away from him. He's going to kill me, he thought.

Tentatively, Dean put a hand on Seamus's arm. It was shaking. "You still aren't well," he said, alarmed at the way the bones jumped through the flesh. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"You................ don't care!" Seamus spat.

"I don't care? I've made myself ill wondering what's happened to you. You almost drowned- and then they said you were in hospital... It's my fault!" Full of frustration, Dean turned away, hands covering his eyes. "When I said I wasn't like you- I knew it would hurt you... Wanted to. Because... Because I knew it wasn't true. "

Seamus swayed again, his eyelids drooping. "Shay...?" Dean grabbed his shoulders to steady him. Then, looking into his pitiful face, he felt something inside him awaken.

A dove cried, and Dean took Seamus' hand and closed it around the white flower. He placed Seamus' arm around his neck, letting it hang sleepily like draped satin.

"Come on, you nutter. Home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes: Not the best fic, I know, but Seamus and Dean are so cute... :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shay gets a letter from Dean. Will it make things better or worse?

Seamus,

I've got to explain some things to you. That's why I wrote this letter- because I couldn't say them to your face.

I know I haven't been to visit you in the Hospital Wing, and I can't lie about it- I didn't visit because I didn't really want to. Sounds selfish, but I can't lie to you- not any more.

When I found you in the grounds a couple of weeks ago, I didn't want to believe it was you. Because I was just getting used to you not being there, I didn't want you back in my life again. Even as a friend.

I'm such a bastard. You know what this is all about. It's down to me being self-centered and scared to admit that I ever loved you. Remember that night, when you were watching me sleep? I knew it then. I was so ashamed of myself afterwards that I wanted to take it all out on you, because if I believed it was your fault, it wouldn't hurt me.

But it did hurt me. You have no idea what I felt when I said "I'm not like you". It's been like a heavy weight in my chest ever since. I lied to you, and I lied to myself. And I've paid the price for doing it.

When you didn't come back from the lake, I thought you had really done it. It was more than I could take, and knowing that I was so scared because I loved you just made it worse. This is what hurts the most- when I found out that you weren't dead, I panicked about seeing you again.

I don't deserve someone like you. And you really don't deserve to be treated like this.

What happened at the lake? Did you want to drown? I keep seeing your body, limp and soaking as they pulled it out of the water in my dreams. You're haunting me and you're not even dead.

I'll admit, when I found you in the grounds again, all I wanted to do was look after you and make everything better. Do you know how much it hurt to find you in that state? I'd never seen you anything but happy- and there you were, bombed out of your head on valium or whatever it was.

This is pathetic. I don't even know what this letter means. What I wanted to say is that I do love you- always will love you- but I can't be with you.

Perhaps it's time we both let go.

Dean

*

With a shaking hand, Seamus took the piece of parchment. It was barely possible to tell his dull skin from the paper. He smoothed it out in a slow, careful gesture and sat for a while. It had been a while since he'd had to read anything, and all he could see was a page full of inky squiggles. Squinting, he tried to focus on one word. Its first letter has a straight back, then a curve. And four more letters, smaller than the first. D...... De..... Dean?

The art of reading came flooding back to him. He took in every word hungrily, forcing his slowed brain to work more quickly.

You need it... snarled a voice in his head. Your brain can't work without the drugs...

But as the words snaked into his mind, he began to understand. Somewhere in him, he knew that he should be hurt, or angry- even both. But he couldn't cry, or shout, or even feel. Not anymore.

*

Seamus looked up into the liquid brown eyes. So liquid, in fact, they looked like pools of tears that would never be shed. Dean had come to visit him in the Hospital Wing; for the first, and inevitably the last time. Dean cleared his throat and walked to the window, where rain fell softly on the pane.

"You read it..?" The rain fell like Seamus' tears had fallen that night in summer. He could see the letter clutched in his hand, creased and discoloured.

"Yes." Seamus looked sharply into his eyes, green boring into brown. "Lots of times."

Dean cringed. Seamus was going to make this hard for him. Why hadn't he got better? He wanted a reaction- anything to stop him looking at that blank face, hearing that lifeless voice. That letter, clenched in his hand looked like the petals of a wilting flower.

"Can't feel anything..." Seamus muttered, staring at his hands. Each word rolled off his tongue slowly. "I can't do things. Dean."

Dean's soft mouth formed words, but he couldn't think of a suitable answer. He just wanted this to stop. He and Seamus could be friends, or they could be lovers. Or maybe it was time for him to finally let go, to move on and let the feelings drift away with the pain..

Seamus never shifted his eyes from Dean's, watching long lashes sweep over the brown as it filled with tears. He watched every crystal tear flow, never saying a word. After a while, he dropped the gaze, turning his attentions to the world outside the window.

And then suddenly, he felt a slender hand forcefully grab his face, hard lips crushing desperately on to his; his face being smeared with fresh tears.

Like the bursting of a dam, all the feelings that Dean had tried to deny and keep suppressed came flooding out. A gust of wind blew the windows open and the shutters crashed against the wall as the clouds burst and the rain began to pour. They stood there for quite some time, soaked through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes: A wee question for you.. Should this story have a happy or a sad ending? Suggestions please!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath... How will Dean react to what he just did? Is it the beginning or the end?

They broke apart. Dean sat down on a nearby bed, knees shaking. Seamus continued to stand by the window. The storm was over now, and a light breeze flecked with quenching rain blew in. The thin, white cotton of his pyjamas flapped slightly, making Dean think of angel wings.

"Shay," Dean muttered, breathing it out like a sigh. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and stared down at them. If this was love, then why was it so intense, so excruciatingly painful? He balled the hands into fist, still trying to deny the feelings flowing through him. His nails dug deeper into the flesh until a series of red half moons appeared on his palm. He knew that he was the source of the pain, and not Seamus.

"I can't do this any more!" he shouted, in a voice alien to his own. Striding across the room, he gripped Seamus by the shoulders, speaking shakily.

"I give in! You've won. We'll be together- I know how much you need this."

Seamus stared. Just a stare, nothing more.

"I don't." Seamus turned towards the window again. "I don't want to be with you. I just don't need all your crap. I'm not going to let you go on hurting me."

"But I won't!" Dean insisted, his grip tightening. "Don't you see- we're soul mates." Seamus looked away. "Soul mates!" he repeated.

"No. You wouldn't treat your soul mate like this." Seamus took Dean's hands, surprising him with his strength, and pulled them away from his shoulders. He turned his back again, once more looking out of the window. The rose bush was going wild, a tangle of thorns- and yet, among them beautiful, fragile flowers.

From behind him, he heard Dean's low whisper. "Please- Please. I... need you."

The words hit Seamus hard. Something in his mind was stirring and a strange emotion was now bubbling through his veins. "What was that?"

He knew that he was the one in power. The tables had turned, and now he could break Dean the way he had been broken at the lake. Dean was almost on his knees, a pathetic sight.

"I need you!" Dean repeated. "I love you and I need you. So much." He shook his head sadly and stared at the floor. "So much."

Seamus closed his eyes, trying to block out Dean's pitiful face, the huge chocolate eyes. He couldn't take this, it was too much.

"You're suffocating me!" he told Dean, looking strangely childlike. "Stop hurting me."

Dean laid a gentle hand on his arm. The pleading look in his eyes had gone, his voice was warm and he was now just Dean. "I've turned my back on you once. Do you really think I'd do it again? I've learnt my lesson now- there'll be no more pretending. I just love you, Shay, and I want to make this better."

There was a silence for quite some time after. Nothing but the ticking of the clock and the click of Madam Pomfrey's heels. The tap dripped, like time itself was squeezing slowly out of it. Breaking the silence, Seamus sighed softly, and laid his head wearily on his friend's shoulder.

"I'll make it better," murmured Dean again.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end... or the beginning?

The storms had ceased now and the air was still. In the sky hung a swollen sun, wrapped in tired grey cloud. The air felt thick and suffocating like one breath would last all day, sitting heavily in the lungs. It was thickly perfumed, almost nauseatingly, with the scents of rose and lavender.

Seamus sat by the fountain, hand dipping idly into the water. It was one of few moments he'd had to himself lately. It felt good. His eyes fell on the surface of the water, where he could just see a reflection. He stared at it hungrily, having seen himself reflected in a pair of liquid brown eyes for a while now. The boy staring back was pale and thin, his startling green eyes being the only colour in his face. Seamus ran a hand through his sandy hair, watching his reflection slowly do the same. Fascinated, he poked a finger into the surface of the reflection, waving it waver and distort, a slight smile upon his lips. Then his eyes wandered over to Dean, who was sitting with his back against a tree. His head was bent low and his sketchbook was open on his lap. His pencil flew over the page, eyes occasionally looking up through a squint.

"What are you drawing?" he asked, transfixed by Dean's concentration.

Dean looked up, startled, then smiled warmly. Seamus had almost recovered now and would soon be out of the Hospital Wing. It had been hard at first, when Seamus had been little more than a child, wandering aimlessly through the dark. Dean had tried to guide him, but often his hold on Seamus' hand would slip. He'd watch him drag his feet along the ground, dead eyes cast to nowhere. Worse than watching Seamus lose himself was knowing that it was their pathetic love- his denial and Seamus' pain- that was the cause of so many problems. This guilt, combined with his rediscovered love, made him more determined to cure his friend. Long afternoons were spent talking quietly to Seamus, reassuring and listening intently. He would take him out into the grounds and show him what was beautiful in the world. And slowly, Seamus started to shed his skin of depression and emerge.

"Drawing." At this matter of fact remark, Seamus rolled his eyes.

For a while, he watched Dean's long fingers move against the pencil as it made lines and curves, lighter and darker each time. As he worked, Dean's lips parted and then closed again, before moving against each other. Beautiful, thought Seamus, not noticing Dean look up at him.

"You look interested," Dean remarked, setting the pencil down carefully.

"Can you show me how you draw like that?"

Dean nodded, and gestured for Seamus to sit on the ground in front of him. Gently, he took his hand and slipped the pencil into it. Then he enclosed his own fingers around the pencil, so that their hands worked together. He rested his chin on Seamus' shoulder. Seamus could feel his breath on his cheek and his warm body surrounding him. Slowly, the pencil began to move, flowing around the creamy page.

"I'm drawing!" Seamus whispered happily. Dean nodded. His every breath sent uncontrollable shivers down his spine.

When he gave more attention to detail, Dean would lean into him. His long fingers would grip his own and guide the pencil around the page in thicker, heavier lines.

After a while, the pencil stopped moving, but neither of them separated. They sat, staring down at their work. Seamus looked down at his hands, stained by pencil smudged from Dean's fingers, enjoying their closeness. He turned around, bringing a hand up the Dean's cheek, knowing he wanted this, knowing it could no longer destroy them. Softly, he brushed his lips against Dean's, pulling away gently to look at his expression. There was a warmth in his eyes like gentle fire. Seamus kissed him again, this time more deeply, more slowly. He massaged Dean's tongue with his own, feeling their hearts beat against each other. Dean sighed with pleasure, wrapping his arms more tightly around him.

Eventually they separated, out of breath. They flopped on to the ground next to each other, still embracing. Seamus turned to look at Dean's face, checking that he was still happy. Dean's eyelids fluttered as he looked up at him through dark lashes, a contented smile upon his face. Seamus couldn't resist laughing to himself when he saw a large pencil smudge on Dean's cheek, silver grey in the cloudy afternoon light.

And they smiled at each other again, knowing that this was the beginning of something beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes: Well, I finally got it finished. To be honest, this story makes me want to stick pins in my eyes... blergh! It's too melodramatic by far. But never mind..  
> Viva Seamus and Dean!


End file.
